


once we were

by writing_grace



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-26 22:43:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18726337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_grace/pseuds/writing_grace
Summary: She feels him. Her arms splayed out on the window still. Fingers strained for purchase, something to grasp onto and bury into – instead her nails scrape the stonework in vain.His first words to her still echo in his head as his stump encircles her waist, pulling her ever closer.You’re  a virgin I take it?





	once we were

_She kicked and wailed, the maid so fair,_

_But he licked the honey from her hair._

_[…]_

_Then she sighed and squealed and kicked the air!_

_My bear! She sang. My bear so fair!_

– The Bear and the Maiden Fair

o n c e   w e   w e r e

* * *

She is the largest creature he has ever seen.

Damned by a resolute lack of womanly traits, he thinks. Domed for spinsterhood.

* * *

Brienne’s more than that, though.

Honourable – that’s what he calls her. Had she been a man, the bards would’ve sung songs of the righteous deeds of Ser of Tarth. Her unwavering resolve and pure intentions stood in contrast to all of Jamie’s life. Yet, it was him who was the knight and the golden lion fair.

Her innocence is what takes him unawares. She’s young – he knows that, of course, and it’s a youth which should draw in men like a swarm of bees. But her virtue is what brings him to his knees. That misplaced sense of honour, valour and loyalty that will be the death of her, he’s sure.

Despite gutting a man right before his very eyes, there was always hope in her sapphire eyes. A lightness in her step despite the weight of plated armour.

Beastly, yet, uncharacteristically kind and gentle. That’s the Brienne of Tarth, he learns.

* * *

He notices, almost by accident, her tendency to hold the pommel of her sword, palming it, stroking the lion’s head like a cat. A need to soothe away its worries – a forefinger that fiddles with its muzzle and thumb that caresses it’s head. Then she draws that sword – _Oathkeeper_ , he reminds himself – and her knuckles, bare and hard, wrap it in embrace.

Though he tries to not think himself a yielding man, at least not in the recent times, he feels a shiver inside; a rising thrill that makes his own hand spasm, and he can’t help himself but pay an inordinate attention to her hand.

His vanity sings in his blood – the need for all to know that Lannister gold adorns her hip. That she slaughters and shields with his sword and his gift.

They all know anyway. Had the golden pommel and the ruby stoned not been enough, the lion gives it all away. They sneer at him though, and they must have sneered at her too, for his indiscretion in branding her a lioness.  Woman had been killed for less.   

She doesn’t wear it now though as wind and snow thrash against the windows. It lays away, perched against the chair accompanied by her guards and plates.

His face is already flushed with the drink he’s had, but he pours himself another from the nearby decanter, and watches the mirrored ruddiness in Brienne’s cheeks.  

“And when this is all over?” He gestures his glass towards her in toast, “What will you do then?” he asks, not really expecting an answer, but in an effort to continue this affable evening before they both have to face the realities of tomorrow.

“When this is all over, I’ll go back. I’ll go back and do what my father always wanted me to do.” She keeps her chin raised, proud and tall, as she drives the knife home, “To take a husband.”

It’s almost a shame that he cannot take it seriously. The drink has already dimmed his senses so he hardly thinks of what he says. “Marry? You?” His voice is beyond incredulous. Her face, for just a flash, looks absolutely stricken. “You’re a knight, _Ser_ Brienne.”

“I know it’s difficult for you to imagine – It’s difficult to see. But I have obligations. I am my father’s only child and Tarth needs a Lord and heir.”

“Difficult to imagine?” He asks, again, much less eager now to hear her wedding plans. “Now that’s an understatement.”

“I’m still a woman Ser Jaime.” Her tone is dubious and a little ashamed. It almost drives him insane. He know why it’s there; because men have laughed at her, her whole life – and he has been one of those men. She is always too ready for another insult, another jape at her expense.

A lifetime ago in the baths of Harrenhall, he realised that she was just as much a woman as any other. They always called her a Maid but her size left much for speculation – taller than most man, stronger them, too – more man then a woman, the soldiers said. With his own eyes, he saw that she had teats and no cock, a light blond bush of curled hair that barely hid her from his view.

“I _know_ that. I –” Jaime’s breaths came heavy and laboured because he had no excuse, not for taunting her in drunken stupor nor for the images that floated through his mind.  

Flustered, she marches to the window, her back to him.

He takes a deep, clearly audible breath, as her shoulders tense at the sound. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. He just wishes she would understand and that he would finally be able to tell what it is that he feels – whatever that may be.

Jaime feels bold. Bolder then he has in many months, as he steps to her.

“I know,” he says, gentler this time as he stand beside her.

She is taller than him. He has always known that too. But now that he stands beside her, almost shoulder to shoulder, their bodies reflected in the panes of the window, he can see the strength of her body, her wiry build. Not large though. Not fragile either. Not thin like Cersei or voluptuous like a whore. Powerful.

Brienne doesn’t look at him, and in defiance continues to stare out the window, watching the flakes, one after another, wane before resting on the ledge. He sees their mutual reflection stare back at him, backlit by the dancing light of the fireplace.

He is still a step behind her, just close enough to feel the warmth of her body, and far enough to maintain expected decency.

Jaime lays his good hand on the cusp of her neck and left shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.

It was such a simple gesture that never needed to be more. A silent apology; an encouragement for the future; and a thank you for all which they survived– where they fought side by side, or as foes on opposition sides. It’s a mutual sentiment, she lets him know, with a tip of her chin.

It really didn’t need to be more.

But Jaime also didn’t want to be decent. He never had been before, after all.  

Pot valour, they call it. It’s a terrible thing, really, because had he been sober, unfazed, he would have squeezed her shoulder and let go. But the urge thrummed in his blood.

He moved his hand traveling down her back, fingertips tracing an invisible patter. She went stiff – of course – shock and surprise registering in her face, blurred only by the reflection of the window.

Jaime held her gaze, however. Ever so slowly, he shifted his body behind her, ignoring the twinge of his cock in his breeches. All it takes is a step for his back to be flush with hers. His breath tickling the wisps of hair on the back of her neck.

Without the armour, he can fell the lean tones of her muscles and the softness of her rump.  

“Brienne,” he whispers begging for permission – begging for forgiveness. He breathes her in, his nose nudges at her exposed throat. His lips diligently follow, just a brush of stubble against her skin.

Gods, how he wanted her.

His stump is already on her belly, pulling her in, closer. His left hand reaches out to grasp hers. Fingers intertwined, her lips parted with a puffed exhale but no response came.

“Ser Jaime, please, this isn’t –”

She does not finish her thought, because he kisses her neck. Dry, closed lips press just above her pulse point, and she hears her heart beat jump out of her chest. All earlier though abandoned.

He’s hesitant at first. Not for long though, because the light touches turn to nips and licks, teeth ready to sink into her flesh, ready to bruise and mark her as his. The wet trail he leaves dries as quickly as he moves from her neck to her cheek, before capturing her lips.

Her neck is strained, backwards and to the side when his tongue delves into her parted mouth. Lips tracing lips, his body and wall holding her steady.

There is no better sight then her completely undone. Her hooded eyes, parted lips puffy from his kiss – it makes him insatiable. 

Her pupils blown, confused and unsure, her hands hang limply at her sides. Unsure, whether to grab onto him, or keep them to herself. There is a slight twitch in her fingers toward him – to reach back and hold him.

She’s his – at least in this moment, she is all his. And no man can ever take that away from him.

His cock pulses in his breeches as he pushed further into her. She feels him. Her arms splayed out on the window still. Fingers strained for purchase, something to grasp onto and bury into – instead her nails scrape the stonework in vain.

His first words to her still echo in his head as his stump encircles her waist, pulling her ever closer.

_You’re  a virgin I take it?_

Her hips are angled, her backside flush against his cock, trapped between his body and the wall. He goes back to kissing her.

At some point, his hand has burrowed itself beneath her tunic. He feels her flat toned belly and sharp hip bones, her nipples which puckered beneath her cloth. Brienne gasps his name when his palm makes contact with her breast. Her hips loll backwards, involuntarily and instinctively and Jaime lets out an unashamed groan.

“Please,” she whimpers and he can smell the sweat that glistens on her skin, can smell the rising stench of their arousal.

_But maybe you wished one of them could overpower you, fling you down, tear off your clothes. But none of them were strong enough._

He wants this. He has wanted this for a while, to sink himself inside her folds.

So he works his hand, lower and lower still, past the muscles of her stomach, just atop her breeches.

_I’m strong enough._

“Jaime – No –”

“No? I can’t hold you down or force you – I wouldn’t wish to; so tell me Brienne, do you want me to let you go?”

He waits holding his breath. Heart pounding.

She gives but the tiniest of head shakes.

_You’d love to know what it feels like to be a woman._

He tugs at her ties, already half undone from his earlier ministrations.

Jaime’s fingers delve beneath. Sure and practiced in his moves, he strokes her folds, presses and tweaks her clit watching her slowly fall apart.

She keens and mewls like a kitten, whilst he whispers encouragements of ‘ _good’_ and ‘ _that’s_ _it’_.

He wants to be rougher. To cant her hips and bend her forward. To feel her pelvis moulded against his and dip into her warmth. Not yet though. In time he will, but for now he takes it slow.   

Jaime wonders if there is anyone in the courtyard below. Can they see them in the window? Can they see her flushed and bothered, covered in sweat that lingers on her brow? His spit as it glistens on her lip?

* * *

He wakes to complete darkness, the fire gone out and cooling air. He looks over the expanse of her back and the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest.

In different time and age she they would’ve been in a softer bed, engulfed by warmth of a burning fireplace. She would’ve bled her maiden blood into the sheets, coating his softening cock in the proof of her innocence.

 

And bleed she did not, unlike Cersei, whose blood had marred his sheets when they were both only ten and four.

His seed has dried on her inner thighs. Perhaps, he should’ve spilled outside and for a fleeting moment he sees her: heavy with child – reliant , needful – a wanton look on her face. A woman who looks like hear but is not her. A babe that they’ll never have.

And had it taken root, he won’t allow it to become another bastard in the world.  

**Author's Note:**

> So I had this idea for Jaime/Brienne that would be more about Jaime being the one to initiate because Brienne is just too shy and too oblivious to do it herself ... and this came out. It's my first time posting anything ever, so hopefully it's not too bad. 
> 
> Disclaimer: this was rushed over the past two days because I needed to publish it before 8x04 crushed all my hopes and dreams. And it has been airing for about 30 minutes by now... oops.


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